


All That We Forgot

by Rumaan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic, Grooming, Manipulation, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1734665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wall has fallen, the North has fled south, and Stannis Baratheon sends a delegation to the Vale of Arryn, the last untouched region of Westeros to seek their aid against the Others. A delegation that includes Lord Commander Snow. What will this mean for Alayne Stone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the wrong place at the right time

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this was meant to be drabble, written for a prompt on [tumblr](http://rumaan.tumblr.com/). But somehow it took over my mind and has turned itself into a multi-chapter. At the moment, I foresee it being about 3/4 chapters long.
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes as this has not been beta'd.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not GRRM.

“Alayne, sweetling, we are to have company this evening. A delegation from Stannis Baratheon are coming,” her father said, as she walked in to break her fast. 

“Stannis Baratheon?” Alayne asked. The name brought back long suppressed memories of a night tinged with green, of fear and a bloody cloak, and a rough kiss. She had been naught but a frightened girl then, held hostage by her family’s enemies. 

_Sansa no longer exists_ , Alayne thought, _she was too weak to survive. Alayne is not that person._

“Yes, the rider that arrived yesterday brought the news. It was quite a shock. I thought Stannis must have perished in the North.”

Nothing had been heard about Stannis for over a year. Nothing had been heard from the North for just as long. Alayne knew the lack of news had perplexed her father just as the slow pace of his plans since Sweetrobin’s death had frustrated him.

 _Don’t think on that. It was not your fault_ , she thought as the confusing tide of guilt and anger began to swell inside. 

“They are requesting aid,” Petyr said, dabbing the cloth that had been resting on his lap during his meal at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you plan on aiding them?” Alayne had asked, surprise in her voice.

“It does no harm to hear what is happening past the Neck. We have had no news for moons now,” Petyr had said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Lord Yohn Royce met them at Gulltown and we are to expect him also.”

Lord Royce was the last remaining Vale Lord to hold out against Petyr. His distrust of Lord Baelish was known throughout the Vale, and whilst her father had managed to bribe and coerce all the other Lord Declarant to his side, Lord Royce stubbornly resisted any overtures. Mayhaps he was ready to finally accept Petyr’s position. _Or ferment trouble._

“Yes, sweetling,” Petyr said, rising and flicking her nose. “I suspect Lord Royce is gracing us with his presence in order to try and undermine me once more. You must not worry though, he is easily read and will not outplay me at this game. Just make sure you keep that pretty face of yours guarded. Now run along and see what help you can offer Myranda Royce. You know just how I like things.”

Alayne nodded and walked towards the door before Petyr called her back. “Where’s my good morning kiss?” he asked.

Alayne suppressed the shudder that ran through her. “I am sorry, Father,” she said before he pressed a long kiss on her lips.

\--------

It had been so long since Jon had last seen a land not ravaged by war that he could not help but gaze upon the Vale that opened up before them when they passed through the Vale towards the Gates of the Moon with awed eyes. The snow here was shallow compared to that which lay in the North, just a few feet deep.

Thinking of the North made Jon frown. There was nothing there at the moment but ice and death. As the Night’s Watch had fled from the fallen Wall, Jon had tried to gather as many smallfolk as possible to bring south with them, but it had been a hard march and not many had survived. Jon feared that if the Others were ever defeated then there would be nobody left to repopulate the North. 

Ghost padded up to his side and Jon twined his hand into the fur at Ghost’s neck. “Good hunting, my friend?” he asked, and laughed as Ghost’s tongue flicked out to lick the fur around his mouth. His muzzle was stained red from the deer he had killed. Jon had tasted the sweet tang of venison as he had briefly checked in with Ghost.

It was easy for Jon to slip into his wolf’s skin now, the time he had spent inside of Ghost strengthening their bond further. And even though he had been back in his own body for many moons now, he still sometimes felt ill at ease as if something were missing. A warmth that came with not knowing the bitter sting of betrayal and death. The reality of fighting the Others had not helped, the ruthless needed had leached into all aspects of his life and he found he forgot what it was like to love or be loved. His memories of life beginning to fade into grey. 

The Red Woman had said this was normal, that coming back took a toll. “Life is not free, Jon Snow,” she had said. “There is always a price to pay.”

He could not help but wonder if his humanity was that price. 

“We will be at the Gates of the Moon by nightfall, Lord Commander,” Lord Royce said, reining his horse in. 

Jon had been surprised when Lord Royce had met them at Gulltown, with all intention of travelling with them to meet the Lord Protector of the Vale, a Petyr Baelish.

“The man is a slippery as an eel,” Lord Royce had declared to Lord Seaworth and himself. “You have to watch every word and make sure your men are not susceptible to bribery.”

“You do not like him?” Jon had asked.

“No, I want him gone from here. However, he has managed to whittle down any opposition to his rule in the Vale to just me. Now I am left having to play a waiting game of my own.”

Lord Seaworth had nodded his agreement. “His grace has already warned me about Baelish. I am to tread carefully with him.”

“I will do my best to gain you the support you need,” Lord Royce had said. 

His freely given support for the Night’s Watch had been welcome for Jon, who found that Southron lords were even more sceptical about the idea of Others than their Northern counterparts. Even with the North fleeing south, they had met with disbelief and in some cases scorn. 

However, Lord Royce’s son had died for the Night’s Watch. Jon had been there when the brother he had lead out on a ranging had been beheaded by his father. _No, not my father!_

It seemed like a lifetime ago. It probably was considering Jon had died once. Memories of his father and brothers shrouded in the grey mists of time when things had been simpler and happy. Before the Others had defeated the Wall and he had just been the bastard son of Winterfell. 

Now he knew better. Had seen the truth, first uncomprehendingly through Ghost’s eyes, and then later when he had met Howland Reed when passing through the Neck. He had demanded answers to the questions his visions had given him and with Ned Stark dead, Lord Reed had no promises left to keep. 

_Not that it matters anyway_ , Jon thought. _There are no more Starks left. Only a Snow who the world believes to be Eddard Stark’s bastard._

\-----------

Alayne tracked Randa down in the store rooms where she was assessing the supplies the Gates of the Moon still had. It had been a long winter already and even the Vale, which had not been touched by war was monitoring its rations carefully.

“It will be nice to have some new faces,” Randa said, when they had finished giving orders to the kitchen. 

Randa ran a lively household but the death of Sweetrobin and then winter’s grip taking hold of the Vale had stymied Randa’s pursuit of pleasure.

“Mayhaps we will even find someone to warm _your_ fastidious bed,” Randa said, a laugh in her voice.

“Hush!” Alayne said, turning to see if anyone had heard. “You know I am to be wed to Ser Harold.”

Randa snorted. “It hasn’t stopped him if the rumours from Ironoaks are to be believed.”

Alayne turned away, keen to hide the annoyance that flicked over her face at Randa’s words. It was said that Harry Hardyng had fathered yet another bastard despite his betrothal. It brought the total to three. 

“Oh, do not worry, Alayne, we all know he was very taken with your pretty face.”

 _But not enough to wash away the stigma of my birth_ , Alayne thought. Petyr had been furious at how Ser Harold kept stalling any final plans for a wedding. It had not stopped him trying to take liberties with Alayne, but it was very clear that he thought he could do better than the Lord Protector’s bastard daughter. Petyr continued to put pressure on Lady Waynwood, the kind that caused Sansa to feel a sense of pity for the old woman who was trying all she could to bring Harry the Heir to the sticking point.

“What time do you think the delegation will arrive?” Alayne asked, keen to change the subject.

\-------------

Wary eyes watched Jon and Ghost, setting Jon a little on edge. Stannis’ men had become so used to Ghost’s presence that Jon had forgotten just how much he startled those not used to him. A year ago, Jon might well have sent him to hunt in the countryside around the castle, to make those around him easy, but now he liked to keep his direwolf close until he was sure of a situation.

Not even the appearance of the bread and salt made Jon relaxed enough for Ghost to stand down from his side. He vividly remembered passing the Twins on their flight south and the shiver that had run through him when Ghost had bristled, baring his fangs at the castle in the distance. For the first time in a long while, Jon had felt the call to abandon his duty, and to pull forth his sword and ride at the castle. Memories of Robb had played behind his eyelids every time he had closed his eyes in the days after. 

The hesitation before the platter of bread and salt was offered to him was not due to Ghost’s presence, however. The stifled gasp had him looking up at their massive host, who was staring at him.

“I’m sorry, Lord Commander,” Lord Nestor said in apology. “You are very like your father was at your age that it threw me for a moment.”

“He’s the spit of Eddard Stark, that’s for sure,” Lord Royce has said, slapping his cousin on his back as the bread made its way to him. 

Jon nodded and quickly brought the bread to his mouth. He took a moment to look around and saw the curiosity on the faces of those gathered. He knew from the time he had spent in Lord Royce’s presence that Ned Stark was remembered with fondness by most in the Vale. He hoped to use this to his advantage. 

“Lord Commander, if you would take my arm, I would be happy to show you to the main hall,” a female voice said, and he looked down to see a short buxom lady smiling up at him flirtatiously, her bodice cut lower than anything he had seen in a long while. 

Jon had never been very good at charm. The northern ladies had never been very interested in courting his favour back at Winterfell. A bastard son had nothing to offer, especially not when compared to the heir of Winterfell, and Robb had been as handsome as he was trueborn. 

“It would be my pleasure, Lady-” Jon said.

“Lady Myranda. Lord Nestor’s daughter,” she said, twining her arm through his and squeezing it a little closely to her chest.

Jon raised his head from his companion to catch Lord Seaworth’s eyes. The man’s amused expression brought a smile to Jon’s face. The more time he spent in Lord Seaworth’s presence, the more he liked him. Despite his history of smuggling, Jon thought his father would have admired Stannis’ honest Hand of the King. Lord Seaworth was certainly not afraid of speaking the truth. 

“Although mayhaps you might prefer to leave your pet outside?” Lady Myranda said, a tremor of fear in her voice as she looked at the large white wolf.

“Ghost is not a pet, he’s a direwolf,” Jon said. “And he stays with me.”

“You are the bastard brother of the Young Wolf are you not?” she asked.

The anxiety in her voice was not lost on Jon. He knew the rumours of what was said about Robb and the Red Wedding. The filthy lies spread by the Freys of his brother turning into a wolf and savaging the guests. He tamped down his temper. “Do not fear, Lady Myranda, Ghost is very well behaved and you should not believe everything you hear of Robb. He was no monster.”

The reproach was evident in his voice causing Lady Myranda to lower her eyes whilst she murmured an agreement.

They moved through into a modest sized feasting hall that was alive with the sound of music and blazed with hundreds of candles. Platters of meat lined the trestle tables laid out and Jon’s mouth watered. 

Lady Myranda led him passed them to the top table, which sat on a small dais. Jon’s eyes skimmed over the inhabitants before resting on the small man who stood behind the chair at the centre. If Jon had not been studying him, then he would have missed the flash of dislike and something that looked surprisingly like panic that passed through the green-grey eyes when they rested on him. 

“Lord Seaworth, Lord Commander Snow, welcome to the Vale,” the man who must be Lord Baelish said.

They were introduced to the rest of Baelish’s party, Jon’s eyebrow rising slightly at the inclusion of Baelish’s bastard daughter at the top table. That was unusual indeed but before he could spend any time studying the girl, his attention was claimed by Baelish once more. 

“I was not expecting anyone from the Night’s Watch to be present. I thought you did not interfere in the affairs of men.”

Something about Baelish set Jon’s back up. Mayhaps it was the smile that played around his lips, making it seem as if he knew something Jon did not. Or mayhaps it was the false tone of friendliness that Jon detected in his voice. Either way, Jon did not need to heed how Ghost stiffened to know not to trust this man. 

“I come with grievous news from the North, my lord,” Jon said. “The Wall has fallen. What remains of the Night’s Watch has travelled south with King Stannis.”

Those able to hear, gasped at Jon’s news and a ripple of whispers passed to the back of the hall. There was the sound of feet scuffling on stone flags as people pressed closer to try and hear all they could. 

Jon briefly read annoyance on Baelish’s face. “Alarming news indeed, Lord Commander but mayhaps we should leave this discussion for later,” Lord Baelish said. “I would be honoured if you would partake of the feast that the hospitable Lord Nestor has prepared for you.”

Jon nodded, knowing that to push news of the Others would be detrimental to his cause. Besides, a larger audience usually meant more disbelief. As Lord Baelish’s attention moved to Lord Seaworth, it allowed Jon to study the rest of the company more closely. Lord Royce had warned the party that Lord Baelish surrounded himself with sellswords, and Jon picked them out easily, their attire giving them away. 

But it was the bastard girl who drew his attention the most. Standing at the end of the table, she stared at him, eyes wide and a hand clutching her throat. She had nondescript brown hair that somehow clashed with her complexion. But it was her eyes that drew him, the colour a vivid blue that he had seen only on his half-brothers and sister – _cousins_ – and Lady Stark. Could she be a bastard fathered on a Tully? Jon frowned. He had never paid too much attention to Lady Stark’s family. They were no kin of his but he knew that Lady Stark only had one sister, who had been married off to Jon Arryn. 

It was Ghost who gave her away, moving across to her side and sniffing her. There was fear in her expression, but not the fear that Jon would expect from a maid confronted by a large beast. Instead it was fear of Ghost’s actions, of what they could mean. She looked around her before she hesitantly put a hand out to fondle his head, tears in her eyes, before sending him back to Jon with a quick gesture. 

“Sansa!” he whispered as her eyes met his, pleading with him to remain silent.


	2. Between Joy and Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your reviews, thoughts and comments.
> 
> This chapter is not beta'd so please excuse any mistakes.

Alayne watched as the hall filled with lords and household staff, excited to finally have an excuse to feast. 

“Stay close, sweetling,” Petyr said. 

The words were a reminder for her to observe how her father dealt with unknown forces, especially if they had been travelling with Lord Royce. But a bastard daughter should never be too close, should never push herself forward, so she had melted into the background as the delegation began to file through.

The flash of white drew Alayne’s attention immediately, as quickly as the gasps that rang through the hall. Her heart pounded as she zeroed in on the direwolf followed quickly by a sickening feeling of loss and dizzying relief.

“Ghost,” Sansa whispered, memories of the day the litter of direwolf pups had been brought into Winterfell. Her hands unclasped themselves, and one fell down the top of her thigh, as if to pet something. _Lady!_

But Lady had gone and her hand groped at thin air and for a brief moment black spots dances before eyes, before Alayne ruthlessly pushed herself back to the front.

 _No!_ she told herself. _You have to be strong. You cannot be Sansa now, not unless you wish to ruin everything._

But Sansa would not be pushed back, could not be suppressed. She lifted her eyes from the enormous direwolf and scanned the crowd of guests coming into the hall. It took her a mere second to find her bastard half-brother. He stood tall, taller than she remembered, a man instead of boy. She could not stop the tears that filled her eyes as she laid eyes on family for the first time since her father had been beheaded. 

_I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady’s Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell._

Her eyes refused to be drawn from her brother for more than a few seconds, whilst she smiled at those she was introduced to. The buzzing in her ears loud as pleasantries were exchanged. However Sansa could not help but be disappointed as Jon’s eyes did no more than skim over her. What if he had recognised her but did not care? They had never been close as children. That had been Arya and Jon. Whilst Sansa thrilled at the sight of another Stark, bastard born or not, Jon might not. He was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch now and in everyone’s eyes she was naught but the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish.

Almost as if sensing her emotional upheaval, Ghost padded over to her, sniffing at her hand before butting it gently. Sansa wanted nothing more than to fling her arms around the white wolf and bury her face in his fur, but Randa’s high laugh drew her back to her surroundings. Alayne had taught Sansa to be smart and, with a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed the direwolf singling her out, she sent him back to Jon with a brief pet.

She raised her eyes back to Jon and her blood sang as he mouthed her name, shock on his face. _He does know me_ , she thought elated, confidence in their bond as kin restored as his drank her in. His body swayed as if to move towards her and she shook her head infinitesimally. Ghost’s actions had restored her wits. Once false move and her disguise would be blown. This was neither the time nor the place. She needed to tread carefully. 

“Later,” she mouthed at him and she was finally able to tear her eyes away as Randa threaded her arm through Jon’s once more and lead him to the place next to her.

 _I have waited years to see my family, I can wait a few more hours_ , Sansa thought as she sank down into the chair next to one of Stannis Baratheon’s knights. 

However, she could not stop herself from sliding glances towards Jon every now and again. 

Later that night, when everyone had eaten their fill, Randa had called for the bard to be silent and the musicians to play lively reels so the guests could dance. Soon the hall was alive with laughter and the whirling of brightly coloured skirts. 

Sansa watched as Randa returned from the dance floor, her cheeks flushed and tendrils of hair sticking to her temple. 

“Will you not dance, Alayne?” Randa asked. “Mayhaps you could persuade the handsome Lord Commander Snow to take to the floor. His eyes have found yours often enough tonight.”

Sansa did not miss the hint of jealously in Randa’s voice. “No. You know I am not keen on dancing,” she replied calmly. 

Alayne might not like to dance, but Sansa liked nothing more. She had once tried to teach her bastard brother how to dance. _Oh, how sweet it would be to touch him once more, to lose herself in his arms_ , she thought. But Sansa must not appear tonight. Jon’s had not been the only eyes to find themselves frequently looking in her direction. Petyr’s eyes had flicked to hers. She had seen his panic when Jon had walked through the door, Ghost at his heels and she had not missed the anxious looks he had sent her way through the feast.

“Snow and Stone, mayhaps it makes no difference, you bastards are all alike,” Randa said with a laugh. “For the Lord Commander is as adamant as you not to take to the floor.”

Jon had never enjoyed dancing but Sansa now wondered if that due less to inclination but more because he had not wanted to push himself forward as a bastard. 

“I had thought to invite him into my bed,” Randa said, leaning close to Sansa. “But for all that he is pleasing to look at, he’s so grim and solemn. Do you think he even knows what to do with it? He’s nothing but a mere boy after all, and one who has been in the Night’s Watch for some years now.”

Sansa was surprised by the rush of anger that swept through her at those words and by the desire to slap the silly smile from Randa’s face. It was only the knowledge of just how closely Petyr was watching her that had Sansa reining in her temper. She shrugged and gave a non-committal answer.

Randa flicked her cheek. “As if you would know, such an innocent as you are. If Harry the Heir is in no rush to drape you in his cloak and take your maidenhead, then you should see if someone else is. Mayhaps the Lord Commander.”

Sansa could not help the blush that spread over her cheeks or the startled eyes that flew in Jon’s direction. It did not help that he was watching her, a goblet of wine resting loosely in one hand. Sansa’s blush deepened causing Randa to laugh. “There it is! I thought I had lost the ability to make you blush.”

“Randa!” Sansa admonished. “What if someone were to hear you.”

She was saved any more teasing from her friend when Donnel Waynwood stepped forward to claim Randa’s hand for the dance that was starting up.

\-----------

Jon’s hand rubbed his beard as he finally made his escape from the feast. His shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension that had kept them taut for the last few hours. He had waited until Lord Seaworth had retired for bed, knowing that to leave any earlier would cause comment. He had longed to jump up and follow Sansa when she had departed.

He frowned as he thought of his sister. What was she doing here and why was she masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter?

Talk of her involvement in Joffrey’s death had come late to Castle Black and Jon had struggled to believe them. The image of Sansa brushing Lady’s hair always coming to mind. A girl who put ribbons around a direwolf’s neck could not be a kingslayer. 

Jon wished he knew his way around the Gates of the Moon so he could find where Sansa was now, but he was resigned to the fact that he would not be able to speak to her until she wanted. It was unlikely he would get talk to her alone until late in the day tomorrow, as meeting with Baelish with Lord Seaworth would be the priority.

Questions crowded his mind. How had Sansa come to be here and was she was well or not? If she was being treated properly and what he could do to aide her? He could not return her to Winterfell, not with the North covered in snow drifts taller than a man and overrun with monsters, but anything else she requested he would do all in his power to make it happen.

Ghost nudged the door of his chamber open and bounded happily in, bringing a small smile to Jon’s face. It was nice to see Ghost playful again. The stress and strain of the war in the North had left no time for anything other than fighting and marching. The army that had stumbled through the Neck had been thin and ragged.

He cast his cloak aside as he entered his bedchamber, shutting the door behind him and loosening the laces in his tunic. Even though it was winter here, it was still far warmer than anything he had experienced in a long while. _Warmer than the Wall even in summer_ , he thought. 

“Jon,” came a low voice and spun around, startled, his hand automatically going to his sword. He peered into the dimly lit room, and saw the glint of long brown hair of the figure sitting on the bed, Ghost curled into her side. 

“Sansa?”

“Oh that sounds good! Do you know how long it has been since anyone has called me Sansa?”

He took a step forward and then stopped. Part of him wanted nothing more than to envelope her in his arms in a fierce hug that spoke of just how much he had missed his kin, but the other part stalled. This girl confused him. She was Sansa but not Sansa at the same time and it had nothing to do with her hair being dyed that disconcerting brown. 

_She has grown and changed, the same as you_ , he thought. _Of course she would not be the same maid you knew at Winterfell._

However, Sansa had no such qualms, bounding off the bed with a giddiness he had never seen directed towards him before and flinging her arms around him. “Not as good as hugging you feels,” she said before burrowing into his neck. His arms tightened as he felt her tears drip onto his skin. 

They stayed like that, revelling in the feel of one another for a long time before Sansa straightened, wiped her tears and smiled wobbly at him.

“You smell like the North,” she said. “Oh how I remember Winterfell smells! I never thought I would smell that again.”

Jon brushed his hand down her cheek. “You will. You will return to Winterfell and rebuild the castle once more.”

Her eyes glinted excitedly at his words. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is not how you remember. It is not home anymore.”

Stannis had set up quarters there and Jon had met him during the long march down from the Wall. It had not looked like home he remembered, where there had been so much love and laughter, even for a bastard. It had been a burnt out shell and he had wandered around the corridors of the Great Keep, tears in his eyes as he looked upon the damage wrought by the Boltons.

Sansa’s face fell. “I had hoped the reports had been exaggerated,” she said sadly. “Mayhaps it is fitting, an empty husk of castle for a house that no longer exists.”

“Until this evening I thought there were no more Starks. You had disappeared, just as Arya did before you, and whilst I tried to believe, it was hard to imagine you were still alive after so long. But here you are and whilst there is just one Stark, then the house lives on.”

She gripped his hand tightly in hers. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I have been Alyane Stone for so long that I have forgotten what it means to be Sansa Stark.”

Jon bent his head and looked at their linked hands. The warmth radiated from her, heating his hand and then inching its way up his arm, chasing away the cold armour that he had thought permanently encased him. Sansa had always been the most Southron of the Starks, mayhaps he needed that summer heat to temper the ice that had buried its way into his soul so far to the North. He had an urge to gather her in close, to seal his lips to hers, and to chase that heat with his tongue into her mouth. 

The thought had him pulling away abruptly, disgust filling him. She had been his sister, she still thought she was his sister. He had no right to think of her in such a manner. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, grimacing at they tugged through knots, which pulled tightly at his scalp. 

“Jon?” Sansa asked in a puzzled tone. 

“It’s nothing,” he said harshly, the words tumbling from his lips before he could catch them and swallow them back down. Hurt flickered briefly on her face, before she shuttered her expression so he could not read what she thought. The loss of the happy sparkle in her eyes had him cursing under his breath. “I am sorry,” he amended. “I am just weary after the journey.”

Relief flashed briefly over her face before her smile lit up again causing his heart to jolt in his chest. “Come sit down,” she said, patting the bed invitingly as he stiffly followed her.  
When he made no move to do as she bid, she pushed at his shoulders until he sat. Sansa knelt down before him and pulled at the laces on his boots before he put out a hand. “Sansa, you don’t have to do this.”

She grinned up at him. “No, it is not something I would usually do, but I remember my mother would do the same for my father when he returned to Winterfell from travel. I would do the same for you.”

Jon had no memory of that, but it was not surprising. He had not often been in Lady Stark’s company. No doubt Sansa meant the gesture kindly, but coming on top his startling illicit thoughts of her a few moments ago, it had him stifling a groan as he watched her tug off his boots. 

“There,” she said once both boots had been removed. “Now you should feel more comfortable.”

His hand flittered down to her hair, pulling a strand between his fingers. “You must look just like your lady mother when your hair is its correct colour.”

The happy expression on Sansa’s face disappeared as if a cloud had passed over at his words. She rose quickly to her feet, brushing her hands against her skirt as she turned from. “Yes, I have been told I am the very image of her,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

If Jon had not been listening quite as carefully as he was, he would have thought nothing of her words. He stood up and caught her wrist, spinning her back to face him. “What?” he asked. “What did I say?”

She smiled brightly and falsely up at him, pulling her wrist out of his grip and moving to place his shoes neatly by the door. “I am quite uncertain of what you mean, Jon.”  
Her response cemented his belief that the comparison to her mother had made her upset. “Has someone hurt you because of your name or your resemblance to your mother?” he pushed.

She whirled back to him them, devastation and anger written on her face. “Has somebody hurt me?” she laughed bitterly. “I was a hostage of the Lannisters so what do you think, Jon? I watched my father be beheaded, was forced to look upon his head after it was placed on a spike, was beaten every time Robb scored a victory against the Lannisters, and was wed to Tyrion Lannister against my will. I am now hunted for regicide and forced to hide my identity and play daughter to a man who calls me Cat when he forces his kisses-”  
Sansa stopped abruptly and Jon could see that she was aghast at what she had let slip. His heart plummeted as he watched her wrap herself in defences once more, clearing her face of any anger or pain. “It does not matter,” she said with a quiet sadness, and her words spurred him into action.

He strode towards her, arms reaching for her and crushing her against him. Rage swept through his body causing him to shake. “I will kill them, I will kill everyone who has hurt you,” he muttered repeatedly into her hair. “I will kill _him_.”

“Take me away, please take me away, Jon,” Sansa sobbed into his shoulder. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want to go home.”

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up. “I won’t leave here without you,” he swore, kissing her forehead.

\-------------

Sansa could not remember the last time she had felt as safe as she lay curled between Jon and Ghost. _Not since father was alive and I had his men to protect me_ , she thought.

It was not smart for her to remain with Jon through the night. Petyr had probably come to her bedchamber looking for her already but she could not tear herself away from her brother – cousin, she thought. She had lain next to Jon as he had whispered all that had happened to him since she had last seen him, had clung to his hand as he told her the truth about his parentage, relief in his voice as he shared his burden with her.

“I have not told anyone else that,” he had said, voice low with emotion. 

She had brushed the curls out of his eyes then. “You can tell me anything. I would not betray you to anyone.”

He had grasped her hand, kissed it and then held her close as he feel asleep, and her heart had skittered with joy.

She did not remember Jon being so affectionate. He had always come across as sullen and boring to a little girl who had adored stories of devoted knights and their ladies. But now she felt nothing but pleasure in his company, the anxious nerves she had felt as she had waited for him in his bedchamber forgotten.

He had been as pleased to see her as she had hoped. His expression as he squinted at her in the darkened room moving from wariness to happiness as he realised it was her who called to him. It had caused her to bound off the bed and to leap into his arms, something she would never have done in their younger days, but had been as sweet as she imagined. 

Now, as she stared at his sleeping face, she wondered if that frisson of pleasure that had swept through her as his arms closed around her had been sisterly. Later, when he had bent to kiss her forehead, she had dreamt momentarily of his lips covering hers, ridding her of the feel and taste of Petyr’s kisses. At the time, she had dismissed it as a desire for comfort, but it did not explain why her heart had pounded when she found out he was not her brother, but her cousin. 

_You are confused_ , she told herself. _It has been so long since you were able to be yourself that you are imagining desires that are not there._

She hoped that was all it was. She did not want to drive Jon away and he would surely feel disgust if he knew her thoughts.


	3. On Dangerous Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for your kudos and comments. Please note that this story continues to be unbeta'd so please excuse any mistakes.

The soft grey light filtered through the window waking Sansa from a deep sleep. For a brief moment, she thought she was back home at Winterfell, and that the heavy weight at the bottom of the bed was Lady. However, the exhaled air against her cheek reminded her that she was at the Gates of the Moon and sadness ate into her soul. 

_But with Jon_ , she told herself and she turned her head to stare at him. He looked younger and peaceful in his sleep, his full lips pouting slightly and his curls falling into his face. Sansa wanted nothing more than to wake him up, to hear his voice and see his smile, but the dark circles under his eyes spoke of his exhaustion. It was little wonder after all the hardships he had undergone. 

The stories he had told her, of monsters and dead things beyond the Wall had made her shiver, bringing back Old Nan’s tales. She had always preferred the songs and stories of knights and their ladies, had always begged Old Nan for those instead of the scary tales of the Long Night. But if all Jon had told her was true – and Jon had no reason to lie – then Old Nan had not been sharing legends but warnings and the Vale needed to heed them.

Thinking upon the Vale brought home the ramifications of her staying with Jon. In the deep of the night, the consequences of her actions had seemed unimportant, but now, in the cold light of day, she knew she had been foolish. Petyr would have looked for her, would have worried that with Jon’s presence, his plans would unravel. 

Reluctantly Sansa pulled herself from Jon’s bed, shivering in the icy chamber as she laced her boots now the protective furs and their warmth had gone. Ghost lifted his head from the end of the bed, his red eyes glinting at her against his snowy fur. She could not look upon him without the ache in the soul where Lady’s absence festered, but she could not dwell on that. She put her finger to her lips for him to be quiet before releasing a low giggle as she remembered that Ghost never made noise. He had always been the silent observant one much like his companion. She turned once more to Jon, brushing the curls from his forehead and bending to kiss it, hovering for a heart stopping moment over his lips before pulling back and slipping quietly from the room.

Sansa made her way straight to Randa’s chambers, passing only sleepy maids in the corridors. She nodded her head and ignored their curious stares. She pushed the door to Randa’s chambers open after a brief quiet knock. Randa was abed still, her head pillowed on a Knight traveling in Lord Seaworth’s retinue’s chest. Suppressing her blush, Sansa moved into the room, carefully making little noise as she gently shock Randa’s arm. 

Lady Myranda blearily opened her eyes and sat up in shock as she saw Sansa bent over her. “Alayne!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Shush,” Sansa said, before motioning for Randa to get out of bed and come over the fireplace. 

Sansa walked over, turning her back to allow her friend some privacy. The chamber was chilly, the fire still unlit.

“Alayne, is there something wrong?” Randa asked, still tying the sash on her dressing gown as she stood by Sansa’s side

“No, everything is as it should be,” Sansa reassured her. “But I wanted to beg a favour from you.”

Randa ran her eyes over Sansa and then narrowed them before a mischievous smile broke out on her face. “Those are the same clothes that you wore to the feast last night.”

Sansa had counted on her friend being quick and she had not returned to her chambers to change her clothes for this reason. She feigned maidenly confusion, lowering her eyes and hoping the dim light covered the lack of a blush on her cheeks. 

“You went to someone’s bed!” Randa said excitedly. “Who was it? Not Lord Commander Snow? You could scarcely take your eyes of him at times last night. Tell me, does he know where to put it?”

Ignoring the stream of questions, Sansa whispered, “I must beg you to say that I stayed here should my father question you.”

“Only if you plan on sharing.”

“I promise I will tell you everything later. Now, I have to run.”

Sansa sent Randa a distracted wave and quickly made her way back to her chambers. Her handmaid was already moving around, cleaning away Sansa’s things and the fire was lit.

“There you are, Lady Alayne!” Jenna said, wringing her hands. “You father had already been here this morning and he looked most anxious at your continued absence.”

Sansa smiled reassuringly. Jenna was afraid of Petyr, always becoming flustered in his presence. “I am sorry to have alarmed everyone. I stayed with Lady Myranda last night.”

“I wish you had informed me, milady,” Jenna said. “It is not like you to not tell anyone where you are.”

“I do apologise, Jenna. I must have been overcome with excitement from the feast and our guests.”

Jenna smiled indulgently at her. “I forget just how young you are at times, milady. No wonder you forgot to say anything, it’s been a harsh winter so far, and all that trouble with little Lord Robert, you need some gaiety.”

Sansa’s smile fell at the reminder of Sweetrobin and her belly twisted with nerves. How was she to tell Jon what happened there? Would he still want to help her if he knew what she had done? _He might think me a murderess_ , she thought miserably. _And I am._

“I called for a bath to be drawn,” Jenna said, as the door opened and servants entered, carrying a bath and pails of hot water. 

Dazedly, Sansa allowed herself to be stripped of her clothes and was soon sitting in the lavender scented water. Usually, a bath would soothe her worries away, but today she sat huddled, her knees drawn up and gnawing on her bottom lip. _It was an acciden_ t, she thought. _I did not mean for Sweetrobin to die. I did not know what the Sweet Sleep would do. Surely Jon would believe me._

The thought of Jon pulling away in disgust had the tears flooding Sansa’s eyes. It would break her heart but mayhaps she deserved to be left here. _Jon is too pure for the likes of me. Not after what I have done._

For the first time in a long while, the memory of running to Queen Cersei with her father’s plans came to mind. _I don’t deserve to go home_ , she thought. _It is my fault my father’s plans were thwarted_ and the tears slipped down her face in a steady stream.

\--------------

Jon woke with the noise of his fire being lit. His first thought was of Sansa. His hand groped to the side of the bed she had slept to find it empty. His initial reaction was disappointment that she was not there followed by relief. It would not bode well for either of them if she was caught in his chambers. He leaned up on his elbows to see Satin moving around with quiet efficiency. Ghost was noisily wolfing down his breakfast in the corner on a ham that had Jon raising his eyebrows.

“The kitchens donated a ham to Ghost?”

Satin threw him a cheeky grin. “I might have exaggerated how grumpy Ghost became if he is hungry. The kitchens will now make sure he is well fed primarily out of fear for their lives.”

Jon gave a low laugh, marvelling at just how creative Satin could be. 

Satin sobered. “I did not want Ghost to leave your side, m’lord.” Satin had been instrumental in helping the Red Woman to bring Jon back. It led to an over protective attitude towards both him and Ghost that Jon could not help but be grateful for. 

Pushing the furs aside, Jon climbed out of the bed ignoring Satin’s raised eyebrow at his sleeping attire. He was not going to strip down to his smallclothes whilst Sansa was in his bed, so all he had done was remove his boots and doublet. It led to rumpled clothes that he could Satin shaking his head over out of the corner of his eye as he made his way over to the screen and started to remove yesterday’s clothing. He stretched his arms high above his head, revelling in the warmer air and the feel of his clean skin. Before he had bathed yesterday, he could not remember the last time he had managed more than a hurried splash of water over his face, hands and hair. 

“Here,” Satin said, flinging a clean tunic and breeches over the screen. 

It was Jon’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “When did you get my clothes cleaned?”

“As soon as we arrived. The washerwomen were happy to oblige.”

 _I am sure they were_ , Jon thought with a smile. Satin was not above using his pretty looks to gain his way. There had not been much scope for him to do so in the dour atmosphere of Castle Black, but the further south they came, the more Satin was able to wrangle with a the flash of a quick smile and a lascivious look from his eyes.

Jon finished dressing in silence, listening to the sound of Satin cleaning up after him and Ghost licking his muzzle. With a contented sigh, Jon realised he felt more at peace than he had in a long while. It was not that his cares had abated or that he did not fear what sacrifices would have to be made in order to defeat the Others, it was more a warmth that he had not felt since he had come back. 

He rounded the screen once more, clothing in place, to find Satin standing next to the bed, a puzzled look on his face and a long strand of hair dangling from his finger.

 _Sansa_ , he realised in surprise. _It was Sansa_. The cold hole that had resided inside of him for so long, since before he had even died, had gone. It had been replaced with a lightness that made him feel as if he were gliding across the floor instead of dragging his body to the next crisis.

“The Lady Alayne is said to be the most beloved daughter of Lord Baelish, bastard or not,” Satin said in a neutral tone that broke through Jon’s thoughts, causing him to scowl as he remembered Sansa’s words from the night before. 

Jon turned away, rubbing his hand over Ghost’s head and clenching his teeth together to keep from saying her name was Sansa and that Baelish had no right to her.

Instead, he settled for lightly saying, “I am sure she is.”

“Did I tell you it was Lord Baelish’s brothel I had been working in when I was arrested in Gulltown before coming to the Wall? He is not a pleasant man to cross and I am grateful he does not recognise me.”

The warning in Satin’s words was clear, but, if anything, it hardened Jon’s resolve to take Sansa far away from here. 

“I am sure I do not know what you mean, Satin,” Jon said looking steadily at his steward.

Satin gazed pointedly at the long strand of hair once more. “Of course, this could be any maid’s hair. There is no shortage of brunettes at the Gates of the Moon but mayhaps you would do well to tell Lady Alayne to leave your chambers at an earlier hour if you wish to avoid comment. I saw her as I went to collect your clothes.”

Jon swore, he had known there was something in that look Satin had shot him when he had risen from his bed. He would not make a fool out of himself by outright lying. “I will take your words into consideration.”

Looking forward to a quiet meal before meeting Baelish, Jon’s hopes were further frustrated when Lady Myranda slid into the seat next to his in the Great Hall.

“Lord Snow,” she said with a mischievous smile.

“Lady Myranda,” he replied, continuing to shove honey sweetened porridge into his mouth, hoping his uncouth manners would go some way to disgusting the Royce girl.

However, she tapped her wooden spoon delicately against the side of the chunky wooden bowls that held the hearty breakfast and watched him before leaning into his side and breathing into his ear, “I would not let Alayne see you eating like that. She is a fastidious thing, with manners far better than any bastard I’ve ever seen before.”

Jon suppressed his desire to slam his spoon down on the table and shout that he knew and that she was no Alayne Stone, but Sansa Stark, and he knew her better than any damn person here did. Instead, he settled for raising an inquiring eyebrow.

“You can play uninterested if you wish, Lord Commander, but I know where Alayne spent last night. Make sure your steward gets rid of the sheets himself. There are many who would be interested to know that she is a maid no longer.”

Of all things Lady Myranda could have said, Jon had not been expecting that, and the thought of bedding Sansa had him choking on his porridge. 

“Careful now,” Lady Myranda said, clearly amused.

\--------------

Sansa slipped into private room Petyr favoured to break his fast. The maidservants were in the middle of laying the meal out and Petyr already sat in his usual seat at the table. His contemplative expression did not pass Sansa by. He wore that face when he was worried and unsure of an outcome or someone’s reaction. She didn’t need to look very far to figure out who he was thinking so furiously on. He would be anxious about the appearance of Jon Snow and her response.

_I must make sure that he suspects nothing. If I am to leave here with Jon, then I must not allow him to realise._

“Good morrow, Father,” she said, sliding into the seat opposite him. She did not think she could bear it today if he tried to kiss or fondle her. Not now she had regained Sansa and Jon was here. 

“I looked for you last night after the feast and early this morning,” Petyr replied.

“I am sorry, Father, Randa asked if I would like to share her chamber last night.”

Sansa kept her face smooth as he studied her, looking for any of the old weaknesses, but if there was one thing she had learnt here then it was to lie. 

“And Jon Snow? Did you have conversation with him?”

“No,” she lied comfortably. “I have no reason to speak to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“What about a brother?”

“I have no brothers, Father, I am your only daughter.”

Petyr smiled when she said that before he shook his head slightly. “Come now, sweetling, we both know who that boy is out there. He looks so like Eddard Stark.” 

“Does he?” Sansa found herself saying and realised that she meant it. Oh, Jon had the Stark look. She felt a sense of home just looking at him each time. But beyond the long face, dark hair and grey eyes, Jon did not look like the father she remembered. He was taller and leaner for a start, and whilst her father had been stern, grim some might say, she detected a more melancholic look in Jon. 

“Nestor Royce talked all evening about how it was like hosting a ghost at the Gates.”

Sansa picked up a heel of bread, savouring the yeasty smell from the fresh bread, before she buttered it and daubed a generous trail of honey over the top. “Even if he does look like Eddard Stark, all the Starks are dead.” Her heart skittered as she said this but she concealed the pain. Now was not the time to become sentimental. If she was to fool Petyr then she needed to be ruthless to do so.

“All but one Stark,” Petyr corrected. “Sansa Stark will be wed to Ser Harold as soon as it can be arranged.”

“And how does the planning come along?”

A spasm passed across Petyr’s face, it would be imperceptible to most, but Sansa had spent the last year studying her pseudo father, and she prided herself on just how well she could read him now. “It is slow. Slower than I would like, but I will prevail, sweetling.”

She smiled easily then, noting the relaxation in his shoulders as he observed her demeanour. “I am sure you will, Father. And the annulment? The wedding cannot take place whilst Sansa Stark remains Lady Lannister.”

He dabbed a cloth to his mouth, as was his way at the conclusion of every meal, before standing and moving around to where she sat. “Do not worry your pretty head about that, Alayne. Now, how about giving your father a kiss before he goes to see just what Stannis’ Onion Knight is seeking by coming here?”

She steeled herself as he bent over her, readying to kiss her, and gave a small, inaudible sigh of relief when there was a knock on the door. 

Petyr frowned briefly before straightening once more and calling for the person to enter. 

“I am sorry to interrupt, my lord,” Hugh Bevan, the steward of the Gates, said as he came into the room. “But Lord Davos and Lord Snow await you in your solar.”

Petyr smiled smoothly. “If you will excuse me, sweetling. I will see you this evening.”

“Yes, Father,” she replied dutifully.

\----------

Jon wandered in the small godswood that ran along the south-eastern side of the castle. He stood by the heart tree, which did not feel like a heart-tree to Jon, being a Sentinel rather than the Weirwoods he was used to.

He had needed to escape the stuffy air of the castle, the ache in his head increasing throughout the day as Baelish played clever word games with Lord Seaworth and himself. If Jon had not been on his guard, wary thanks to Stannis and Bronze Yohn Royce’s warnings, he might well have fallen for the friendly demeanour the slippery little man adopted. Then there was the very real anger that bubbled under the surface thanks to how the man had treated Sansa. Thoughts of Baelish forcing kisses on Sansa’s pretty lips came unbidden to his mind throughout the day and he would find his fingers digging into his thighs to stop himself from slamming Baelish up against the wall.

“I have heard much of the godswoods in the North, Lord Snow,” came the familiar voice of Sansa from behind him. He whirled around to face her. “This godswood must seem sad and small in comparison.”

Her eyes bored into his and he gave her a miniscule nod to show that he understood. Out here, where they could be overheard, she needed to be Alayne Stone. “It certainly does not compare to the godswood at Winterfell,” he replied. 

He watched as she came to stand by his side, maintaining a respectable distance between them and adopting a casually disinterested expression. 

“Is the Eyrie up there?” he asked, pointing to the mountains he had been staring at before she had gained his attention.

“Yes. There is a godswood up there, too, but the soil is so thin, nothing grows. It’s more of a garden really. An empty garden.”

Jon had to stop himself from reaching out to her. The girl he remembered had always been pious. She had followed her mother’s gods more than the Stark gods and had prayed in the little sept his uncle had built for her mother. But the ache in her voice as she spoke of the godswoods gave him no doubt that she sought out the old gods now.

“In the north, beyond the Wall, weirwoods are abundant in the Haunted Forest. The old gods can hear you wherever you go.”

She turned her eyes away from the mountains and back to his face. “I think I would like that.”

Before he could reply, she said, “I hope your prayers are heard, Lord Snow,” before wheeling around and disappearing back through the thin trees and into the castle. 

He stared after her for a moment before looking at where she had stood. Resting just atop the snow was a small scrap of parchment. He bent as if to adjust his boots and swiftly picked it up. Turning as if to pray, he opened it.

_Wait for me in your chambers tonight once more. I will come but it may be late._


	4. Risking It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter. I took a fandom hiatus for a month as I mentioned in my other WIP, What Destiny Brings. 
> 
> Just before I disappeared, gaunt-ariita ([eyelinerstains](http://eyelinerstains.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) created [this](http://gaunt-ariita.deviantart.com/art/All-That-We-Forgot-462104632) beautiful art for this story. It is more than worth going to look at (and leaving a comment on).
> 
> This story remains unbeta'd so please excuse any mistakes.

Sansa trod silently through the corridors of the Gates of the Moon, which were dimly lit at this time of night. The majority of the torches had already been extinguished as the castle slept. Guards patrolled every now and then, but the majority remained atop the battlements, overlooking the surrounding country. But Sansa had decided against putting her boots on once more, not wanting the noise they would create on the stone flags to give her away. Instead, she padded quietly in thick woollen stockings, her cloak wrapped tightly around her nightrail, with its hood drawn up to guard her against any prying eyes. 

After her trying day, Sansa had a need to relax in Jon’s presence. To bask in his uncomplicated company and be herself. She also wished to bury her face into Ghost’s fur and remember when everything had been nice and happy back at Winterfell. Before King Robert had descended and her life had gone to ruin. 

She was lucky that her trips to the godswood were common enough that her excursion there that afternoon had only drawn a long look from Petyr. As she had suspected, he had sent someone to tail her and report to him where she had been. Petyr had been waiting for her when she returned, so she had smiled, asked sweetly how his meeting was going and mentioned that she had met the Lord Commander in the godswood. Her open honesty had Petyr relaxing and Sansa was never more grateful that he had such faith in his own abilities to read other people. He had taught her to lie smoothly and without qualm, but he did not seem to realise that she could and would use this ability against himself. She would do anything she needed to if it meant she could free herself from his clutches. Jon coming to the Vale had been the catalyst she needed. She was no longer alone and she did not care if she had to ride behind him as he went to fight the nightmare in the North. 

Jon’s door was unlatched, allowing her to slip inside with little noise. The candles were still lit and the fire crackled in the grate, turning the room a warm orange colour that contrasted sharply to the cold dark blues of the outside corridor. 

Ghost jumped lightly down from the bed and padded over to her, nudging her head with his head. “Hello, boy,” she said as she got to her knees and threw her arms around his neck. Allowing Ghost to lick her hand, she sat back on her heels and looked around for Jon, surprised that he had not greeted her already. She smiled as she saw him seated before the fire, his head tilted back, eyes closed and his mouth slightly agape. 

Sansa got back to her feet, brushing her hands down her cloak, and walked towards him. “Jon,” she said quietly, pushing the curls away from his face. He turned and nuzzled into her hand and she wondered if some residual of his time in Ghost remained in his unconscious actions. “Jon,” she said again, shaking his shoulder gently. 

“Hmmm,” he groaned, briefly opening his right eye before it closed once more.

Feeling guilty for disturbing him whilst he was so tired, Sansa turned ready to leave his chambers, disappointment warring with a desire to let him sleep.

A hand reached out and grasped at hers, pulling her back and down onto Jon’s lap.

“Sansa,” he murmured, nuzzling his head into her hair, which was coiled at the back of her neck. His breath sent shivery waves down her spine. “Stay,” he whispered, his lips brushing across the sensitive skin of her nape, making her squirm a little at the hot, tingling sensation his actions caused.

She ghosted her fingers down the back of his hair and he raised his head and gazed at her with sleepy eyes. “Hello,” he said, a breath-taking smile slowly taking shape on his face.

The softer look on his face had her fears receding into the shadows. She could not feel anything but safe situated as she was, cocooned in his lap with his arms holding her. She relaxed against him, resting her cheek on top of his curls. “I missed you today,” she said quietly. 

She felt rather than heard the low chuckle he let out. She lifted her head and looked down at him. “That amuses you?”

“Only because I struggled to remain in Baelish’s solar rather than come and find you.”

Sansa knew she should not but she could not help the hand that cupped his cheek, her thumb smoothing over the silvery scars that ran down from his temple. Jon closed his eyes and let out a small contented sigh. “I never thought I would be warm again,” he muttered, and her hand stilled in confusion.

“Don’t stop,” he said, his eyelids fluttering opening revealing eyes so dark they almost looked purple in the muted light of the chamber. 

“Warm?” Sansa asked, regretting the question as soon as it left her lips as it brought back the small frown that rested all too regularly in between Jon’s eyebrows. 

He sat up straight, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes, and jostling her on his lap as he held her hand, playing with the ring that adorned one finger. “This war in the North, it has been…difficult,” he said, hesitating a little over his words. “The sacrifices we have made have not been easy and there has been death – too much death. It sometimes feels as if all the humanity has been sapped out of me. As if everything is death and destruction and pain. Even before the Others, with news from the South and with Ygritte-” he gulped and tailed off.

The jealousy that pierced through Sansa at the mention of Ygritte’s name shocked her. Jon had told her about his lover the previous night. Not in detail, but with enough tenderness in his voice to make Sansa realise that he had loved her. It was petty to envy a dead woman, but Sansa wished someone would speak of her in the same soft tone. 

_You wish it was Jon_ , a small voice in her head said before she could banish the unwelcome thought away.

“And when the Red Woman brought me back,” Jon continued. “It was as if I would never be warm again, as if I was encased in ice. And it was not just because I had been away from my body. It something deeper, something fundamental to my new existence. All memories of happier times were shrouded, distant and faded, almost as if they had happened to another person.”

Sansa’s heart broke at Jon’s words. He had always been quiet, less exuberant than Robb and never one to share his feelings – certainly never with her. She squeezed his hand hard, unsure of what she could say and was rewarded when he looked up at her, a small smile once more softening his features. 

“But last night, when you hugged me, it was as if I was rediscovering a part of myself that I had thought lost forever.” Jon tugged playfully on a strand of hair that had pulled loose from her coil. “Old Nan always would call us summer children and never had that felt more apt. Oh, not in the way that she meant, but as if you truly were of the summer. You were a reminder of the sun, your touch scorched all the ice away, and I felt alive once more.” 

“Oh Jon,” she said, cupping his face with both hands, wanting nothing more than to keep him warm forever. 

Jon’s hand crept up her arm, burning a path, until it rested at the nape of her neck, and he stared intently into her eyes. “I never want to go back to the half-life I was leading,” he whispered.

Sansa’s heart pounded uncomfortably and the heat from her cheeks spread to the rest of her body. The sensation of his fingers shifting slightly on her neck had her body coiled tightly and her mouth dried out. She licked her lips, attempting to regain some moisture only to still as Jon’s eyes dilated at her action. 

“Jon,” she pleaded, not sure of what she was asking, but needing this all-consuming tension to be eased and knowing that he had the power to do so. 

Tangling his fingers into her hair, Jon pulled her towards him and she huffed out a small relieved puff of air as his lips met hers. They rested like that for a split second and then Jon’s lips brushed against hers, once and then twice, before his tongue demanded an entry that she gladly gave. 

A dam burst and they were kissing furiously. Sansa’s hands speared through his curls, tugging him as close as she could, whilst his hands ran up and down her back, pushing her cloak off her shoulders and gathering the thin material of her nightrail into his hands as he anchored her against him. 

Sansa’s last coherent thought was an overwhelming sense of how right his kisses felt.

\--------------

Jon had no idea of how long he had been drowning in the sensation of Sansa’s lips, her body pressed against his own, but it was only the clatter of something metal dropping to stone flags somewhere close by that had him regaining his senses.

Trying to scramble his disordered wits, his hands glided up from Sansa’s hips towards her shoulders, as he sought to gain control of the situation once more. It took all of his resolve to continue upwards when his hands brushed lightly over her teats, causing her to arch into him with a breathless moan. 

“Sansa,” he croaked as he pushed her gently away, disentangling his mouth from hers. “We cannot do this.”

She made a disgruntled sound as she gazed down at him with heavy lidded eyes, a soft pink flush in her cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and take her to his bed. 

_She was your sister_ , he thought angrily. _And now you seek to shame her._

A wave of disgust at his actions swamped him and Jon stood, placing her gently onto her own two feet before he turned away, running his hands through his disordered hair in an effort to keep them off her. 

“Please accept my apologies,” Jon said stiffly. “I should not have touched you in that way.”

“You did nothing that I did not wish for,” Sansa replied.

He spun to face her and the trusting look on her face along with her kiss swollen lips fanned his temper and his disgust in equal measure. “Gods, Sansa! What are we doing? I was your brother!”

“But you are not my brother.”

“Something you discovered only yesterday,” Jon said, keen to point out just how new their shift in relationship really was. 

Annoyance flashed across her face and her hand’s balled up into little fists that she planted on her hips. “And it relieved me!” she said passionately. “Because when I hugged you yesterday it did not feel as a sisterly embrace should. Had you kissed me then, I still would have responded in the same manner, much to my shame. And then you told me your parentage and instead of mourning my last brother, I rejoiced because I understood that what I felt was not how a sister should.”

Silence followed Sansa’s outburst, the only noise being the panting of her breath as she sought to regain her composure, and the crackle of the fire. Jon stared at her, shock rendering him mute, unable to respond to the appeal in her eyes for him to say something, anything. 

With disappointment in her movements, Sansa jerkily picked her cloak up off the floor and wrapped it around herself in a defensive manner. “But if that disgusts you, then I will relieve you of my presence.”

Sansa was almost out of the door before he reacted. He moved swiftly across the chamber, catching her cloak, tugging her back into the room, shutting the door as quietly as his mood allowed and placing his back against it. Sansa glared balefully at him and it amused him that he had thought her a child of the sun. Her face was icy as only a true Northerner could manage, her blue eyes narrowed into chips of cold ice. 

They remained that way for an innumerable period of time, staring at each other. Emotionally off-balance, Jon sought to find to his footing once more. He had experienced unguarded moments since he had arrived at the Gates of the Moon, where he had desired to taste Sansa’s lips, but he had not actually imagined that he would. 

Fiddling with the laces of his tunic, Jon broke the all-encompassing tension. “I would not take advantage of you, Sansa. I will not play on your feelings of relief to have someone you can trust close by, but most of all, I do not wish to force my kisses on you as others have.”

Humiliated flashed across her face for a moment, and Jon felt real remorse at his words. He had not wanted to remind her of distasteful deeds but he also did not wish for her to believe she needed to give herself to him out of gratitude. But the expression was rapidly replaced with something softer, kinder, and Sansa trod towards him. “Did you not hear anything I just said?” she asked, her hand hovering out towards him for an instant before dropping back to her side. 

Wrapping her arms around her midriff, Sansa continued, “When things started to go wrong in King’s Landing, Father sought to end my betrothal with Joffrey and send Arya and I back to Winterfell. But wrapped up as I was in the glamour that clung to the court, and unable to see beneath the façade Queen Cersei presented, I argued with him. One of the last things Father said to me was that he would find me someone brave and gentle and strong to marry. Fool that I was, I only wanted Joffrey,” she broke off again, looking down at her fingers, which were pleating a small area of her nightrail. Raising her eyes to his, Jon saw the determination that shone out. “I cannot help but think that you are that person that he wished for me, Jon. You are all those things and I have grown wise enough to want what my father wished for me.”

She hesitated for a long while before taking a large breath. “I want you, Jon, and I don’t care how wrong it may seem.”

The bravery of her confession stunned him, but he did not make the same mistake as he done previously, striding across the chamber to stand before her, taking her hands into his own. “You have more courage than I do.”

She scoffed, looking down. “No, it’s true,” he said, lifting her chin with a finger. “I already apologised for touching you, and had you said nothing, I would have followed that up by suppressing my feelings and leaving you alone. I would have been miserable and I would have hated any man that approached you, but I would never have told you how I loved you.”

Sansa’s eyes flew back to his, hope shining out and he chuckled, unable to contain the lightness that suffused his body. “Aye, I love you and not as I am meant to.”

A breathtaking smile wreathed her face and he caught her up against him. “Gods, Sansa, someone should take my head for this.”

“Hush,” she said, laying her finger on his lips. “If there is one thing I have learnt then it is to take happiness where you can. And you are not my brother, so there is nothing wrong with either of us taking this.”

Unable to resist the lure of her logic and the temptation of her lips, Jon hummed his agreement and bent his head to kiss her once more, sighing as she eagerly met his mouth.

\----------

Sansa had no idea how long they stayed before the fire just kissing. It seemed like no time at all, but, at the same time, as if nothing had existed before.

It was only when her lips were sore and her breath short that she pulled back, resting her head on Jon’s shoulder, her hand reaching for his. “I never knew it could be like this,“ she said. 

His body stiffened and Sansa was sure she should feel guilt for intruding on this blissful moment with unpleasant thoughts, but she did not. She was with Jon and if she could not speak her mind with him then she would never be able to do so. 

Jon’s hand came up and stroked down the long length of her hair. “I am glad,” was his simple response and Sansa smiled. There was nothing flowery in Jon’s words, no heartrending monologues of adoration, and no comparing famous beauties unfavourably with her. In fact, none of the language she had once desired nothing more than to hear. Even Jon’s declaration of love had been brusque. However, Sansa appreciated this more than she once would have. She knew the real worth of sweet words and flattery, and like her lady mother before her, had come to value the unvarnished honesty of a man of the North. 

Sansa wondered if her mother had felt as safe in Eddard Stark’s arms as she now felt in Jon’s. She could not imagine Catelyn Stark feeling anything other than secure with her Northern husband, and for the first time in a long while, she felt happiness when thinking of her parents instead of bone-crushing sadness. 

“Do you think Father is watching us now?” she asked.

His hand stilled against her hair. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I think he would be proud of us,” she said lifting her head up and meeting his gaze. “And I think he would be pleased that I finally have someone who cares for me, someone I can trust and depend on. It’s been so long since I have had that.”

Jon said nothing, but she saw the telling moisture in his eyes and she cupped his cheek. “And I think if Robb could see us, he would be shaking his head and threatening to get Grey Wind to maul you if you ever harmed me,” Sansa said, enjoying thinking of her family with none of the sadness that had plagued her memories of them during recent years. “Bran would look at us with those wise eyes of his and say that he is glad we have found each other. And Rickon, sweet little Rickon, would look between us with that frown he got between his eyes when he couldn’t quite understand something. Arya would make a face and pretend that she was disgusted, but when everyone’s attention was elsewhere, she would pull me aside and threaten to push me in the mud if I ever hurt you.”

Jon’s chest rumbled with laughter at that and Sansa brushed away the tear that trickled down her cheek from her brimming eyes. “And my lady mother,” Jon’s shoulders tensed at this but Sansa continued anyway, “My lady mother would tell me that I had chosen well. That songs were all well and good for entertainment, but that it was important to see beyond appearances to what a man really amounted to.”

There was scepticism in Jon’s eyes, but Sansa knew that whatever resentment her mother had held towards Jon in this life, wherever she was now, she would know the truth and recognise his value.

But all Jon’s only words were, “You have thought this through.”

“This is first time in a long while where it has not been painful to think of them.”

Jon pressed a soft kiss on her eyebrow. “If I know one thing, then it is how impressed with you they would be.”

“With both of us,” she replied before meeting his lips with hers, their tears mingling as they both cried and laughed at the memories of their dead family.


	5. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm really sorry for the wait for this final chapter. I got a bit stuck on just how I was getting Sansa out of the Vale without turning this into a long multi-chapter. This got cheesy in places and is also not beta'd so please excuse both the cheese and the inevitable grammar mistakes.

Jon woke to a cold bed and his hand brushed over the small indention left by Sansa’s head on the other pillow. He had sleepy memories of warm lips brushing his as they murmured a goodbye in the cold watches of the night before dawn and whilst he knew it was the right thing, he wished she hadn’t had to sneak out of his room. That he could awake with her in his arms, safe and curled into him.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door and Satin bustled in, his black curls brushed away from his head and his black clothes of the Night’s Watch sporting yet more colour. The further south they got, the more swatches of pretty pastel colours ended up on Satin’s clothes that Jon pretended he didn’t notice. He turned a blind eye to more than a few lapses amongst his Night’s Watch brothers these days. It seemed silly to worry so much about vows when fleeing from a monstrous enemy that sought to wipe out mankind. Jon knew what death felt like and he’d rather his men felt like they were living than enforce rules that were bound to a Wall that no longer existed.

“Lord Royce of Runestone seeks an audience with you, milord,” Satin said.

Nodding, Jon pulled the furs aside and stretched in the chilly early morning air. He had wondered when Bronze Yohn Royce would seek him out. He had kept his distance from both Jon and Lord Seaworth since they’d arrived at the Gates of the Moon.

After a hasty ablution and pulling a clean set of small clothes, breeches and tunic on, Jon strode out to the small ante chamber that had been set up as a private space for him should he so need. Lord Royce already sat there, chair pulled up to a table that Satin was unloading platters of steaming bread, cuts of cold meat and bowls of porridge onto.

“Lord Snow, I am grateful you could see at such short notice.”

“It is a pleasure, Lord Royce.”

There was silence as both men loaded their plates with food and dug in for a moment.

Taking a gulp of ale, Lord Royce said, “The bounty of the Vale must be welcome after the trek from the Wall.”

“Aye,” Jon replied. “It has been a while since we have seen food this plentiful.”

“The Vale has been blessed with how well stocked it remains. We hear shocking tales of starvation coming from the Riverlands.”

“It’s not in good shape, that’s for sure,” Jon said, his mouth turned down as he thought about the disarray that had met them south of the Neck.

“But King Stannis remains encamped along the Trident?” Lord Royce queried.

The term Bronze Yohn had used did not go unnoticed by Jon, but he did not bring attention to it. Not yet. Lord Royce was playing a deep game but Jon was not going to acknowledge that fact until he’d worked out part of what it was.

“Aye. Moving further south is not possible at the moment with the chaos in King’s Landing and the Greyscale in the Stormlands. The Others have not penetrated past the Neck so far and the Trident offers us some form of protection – whilst it remains free flowing.”

“And whilst there is the hope of the Vale joining your cause.”

Jon gave a wry smile at that and said, “Lord Baelish does have the largest force at his command.”

“Not technically under the command of Lord Baelish. Harry Hardy- Arryn is the Lord of the Vale,” Lord Royce pointed out, stumbling over the name to be used for Harry Hardyng – soon to be Arryn.

“But not here nor yet invested with his new name or title,” Jon commented.

Lord Royce gave him a long look, his hands stroking his chin. “No, not currently here, but preparing for marriage to Lord Baelish’s delightful bastard girl.”

Jon couldn’t help but move forward at that. His elbows hitting the table and interest on his face that he couldn’t quite cover. Sansa had told him about her betrothal so Bronze Yohn’s words were not a surprise, but there was something in them. A knowledge that Alayne Stone was not all Littlefinger said she was. Lord Royce held his eyes before nodding infinitesimally towards Satin, who was unobtrusively straightening the room in the background.

“You can speak freely,” Jon said quietly. “Satin is most loyal.”

“I have taken the past few days to study Alayne Stone. A beautiful girl and with a castle full of so many knights, it is no wonder Lord Baelish keeps such a close eye on her. She caught my eye last time I saw her, too.”

Anxious at precisely where Lord Royce’s words were going, Jon could do nothing but give a tense little nod.

“Her planned wedding to Lord Harry is an honour for her – after all, Lord Baelish may be powerful but even a trueborn heir of his blood would be no match to the new Lord of the Vale let alone a bastard daughter. Stark blood however is.”

Jon froze in his seat, his eyes blinking rapidly for several moments before he drew a shaky breath and asked, “What are you implying, Lord Royce?”

Bronze Yohn gave him a hard stare before he stated baldly, “That Alayne Stone is none other than Sansa Stark and from the time she has spent in your private chambers, you know this, too.”

There was a muted clatter from behind him which told Jon that Satin had been keenly listening to the conversation and was shocked at the news. Not many knew of King Stannis’ offer to Jon over a year ago but Satin was one of them. He also knew that Jon had refused the offer of being legitimised and claiming Winterfell for his own and he knew that Jon had upheld Sansa’s position as the Stark heir. Something Jon had been doubly grateful for when his own parentage had come out. There might have been a temptation to take Winterfell when he had thought himself Ned Stark’s bastard son, but the fact that he was a dragonseed had killed any thoughts he might have had towards taking the Stark name and the Stark heritage.

Jon could also not help but be grateful that whilst Lord Royce appeared to know Sansa spent time with him, he did not know what happened inside his chambers. He was in no rush to explain who he was or who his parents were and he was still Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and whatever liberties he might allow his men, these were not things he could be seen to be doing publicly – let alone to someone thought by everyone to be his sister.

Eyes narrowed, Jon stared back at Lord Royce. How he dealt with this conversation would have massive consequences for Sansa, but Jon stuck to his original assessment of Bronze Yohn – that he was no friend of Petyr Baelish’s.

“And _if_ that were true – what would you do with such information?” he asked, keen to test the older lord out.

“Lord Commander, I knew your father for many years. Royces have married into the Stark family. We come from the blood of First Men and continue to worship the Old Gods. Any _loyalties_ ,” he said spitting the word out as if the mere suggestion of it offended him. “I may have to Lord Baelish would be nothing compared to the desire I would have in aiding the Lady of Winterfell.”

The breath that Jon hadn’t even released he’d been holding rushed out of his mouth in a relieved sigh and he said, “I will not leave Sansa here and have every intention of taking her away with me.”

Lord Royce nodded at that and gave him a grim smile. “Are you planning on remaining for many more days?”

“I do not think so. Lord Baelish has no real intention of aiding King Stannis for all the tantalising hints he keeps dropping of sending an army back with us. He doesn’t believe us regarding the Others and thinks that I have somehow been swayed to break the Night’s Watch oath to not involve my men in affairs of the realm.”

“And have you?”

“In so much that there will be no realm of men if we do not wipe out the Others. If King Stannis is the monarch who will march to confront the threat then I will align myself with him, yes.”

“I would have committed Vale men to aide your brother, Robb, but Lady Lysa would not allow it. I would do the same for King Stannis, too. However, my influence is weak at the moment. In order for me to help bring those armies to King Stannis, I will need to rid the Vale of Littlefinger’s pernicious presence.”

“How do you intend to get rid of Littlefinger?”

“By uncovering his deception regarding Lady Stark.”

“I had planned on stealing her away.”

Lord Royce raised an eyebrow at this. “How very Wildling of you.”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. No doubt news of the Wildlings that filled his and King Stannis’ ranks had filtered throughout Westeros. “If it gets her away from that man then I will use whatever methods are at my disposal.”

“It’s a decent plan. However, I prefer to end Lord Baelish’s games once and for all. Give me two days and I will make sure this farce is through and in the most public manner we can manage.”

It was a risk. Jon knew from Sansa that Littlefinger had an able amount of sellswords and impoverished lords around him. People who were willing to be at his beck and call for the dragons he would put in their pocket. However, when weighed against the opportunity to rid Sansa of Littlefinger for good, Jon found that Lord Royce’s plan had more merit than it first seemed.

\-------------

Sansa’s stomach was tied in knots and had been for several days now. Ever since Jon had informed her that Bronze Yohn Royce knew who she was and his desire to aide her, she had felt as if there were a nest of snakes in her belly.

Anxiety crawled through her veins, fear of Littlefinger somehow besting Jon and Lord Royce caused her heart to stutter every time she saw Jon in his presence. She could not – nay, would not – be left here at the mercy of a man who pretended to only want the best for her whilst keeping her isolated and vulnerable. She’d hidden the truth of this from herself until Jon had come. She had been unable to face the reality of her situation, but knowing that she was no longer alone, that she had family – _Jon_ – near her for the first time since her father had been executed had allowed her to face up her situation. If this failed. If somehow Lord Baelish nipped any plans to remove Sansa from his sphere of control, she wasn’t sure she could go back to playing the dutiful daughter.

However, if there was one lord in the Vale who could help her, who could make sure she left, then it was Bronze Yohn Royce. She had been happy to spill the secrets she’d kept close to her chest to him as long as Jon had been by her side. Any leverage she could give Lord Royce she had shared and now it was the day of judgement.

The lords of the Vale had been sequestered inside Littlefinger’s solar since the morning. Jon and Lord Davos also. It was a meeting primarily called to discuss the threat of the Others and Lord – _King_ – Stannis’ request for aid, but Lord Royce had told her that he would also reveal her true identity at this meeting and that she should stay close because they would have need of her.

It had been arranged that she would stay in Jon’s room where Satin would help her strip the dye from her hair and now, as she walked into the room, she heard the gasps before she saw them.

Jon stood and stretched out his hand, which Sansa took with gratitude. His fingers squeezed hers as offered her the empty seat by his side.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lyn Corbray asked, his hand gesturing vaguely towards Sansa’s hair and then automatically going to his sword.

“As you will see, Lord Baelish has been attempting to fool us all by forcing this poor girl into a shameful masquerade as his bastard daughter,” Lord Royce said with maddening calm. “There was no need for any of the scepticism you all showed ten minutes ago because as you can see, I am correct.”

The lords of the Vale erupted at this as lords on both divides shouted across each other. Littlefinger raised a hand and calm descended once more on the room. Sansa’s heart sped up and she prayed that he would not trump their hand with his slick words.

“Alayne sweetling, what have they threatened you with in order to force you into such an act?”

There was none of the fear that had dogged Sansa for such a long time as she rose out of her seat. She did not need to be afraid of anything Littlefinger could say whilst she had Jon by her side. He had said he would not leave her here and she knew he would be true to his word, even if he had to fight his way out of the castle.

“I am not Alayne Stone or your daughter. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard’s daughter and Lady’s Catelyn’s, the blood of Winterfell.”

The words fell from her lips naturally and a weight lifted off her shoulders at their release. It was almost as if they had been waiting on the tip of her tongue for her to utter them out loud, to reassert her true heritage, and now that she had she felt lighter than she had in a long while. A smile curled her lips up – she had waited so long to be able to state her pride in being of House Stark. All the times she’d been forced to denounce her brother as a traitor, to listen to her father be defamed, to hide her misery at the demise of her house, and now she could declare who she was with no sting at having to follow it with something derogatory.

The exclamations started up again but Sansa gave them no mind, meeting Petyr’s eyes with determination and holding her head high. She would never hide her identity again.

“If that is the case, then someone seize her!” Corbray stated. “Queen Cersei has a bounty on the Stark girl’s head!”

Before Sansa could even feel alarm at the words, or any sellswords present could draw their swords, Ghost padded forward from the back of the room, his fur raised, and his lips curled in a fierce but soundless snarl. He planted himself in front of Sansa, a large, menacing presence and the very embodiment of the Stark sigil. It didn’t take a person of great imagination to realise that any attempt to take Sansa would lead to a throat being ripped out.

His owner was no less imposing, standing by Sansa’s other shoulder with a hand on Longclaw which remained strapped to his back. “No one will be seizing my sister,” he said, his voice low with promise.

“If everyone could stand down,” Lord Seaworth said. “This is not a matter that can be decided here but must be brought to the attention of King Stannis.”

“You are not removing my daughter from this castle and taking her away with _him_ ,” Littlefinger said, pointing a finger at Jon. Sansa was pleased to note that it shook it a little. “This whole situation is preposterous.”

“I am not your daughter,” Sansa stated calmly. “And I have every plan to leave with my brother, Lord Commander Snow.”

Her tongue stumbled a little around the word brother – it felt strange to be using such a term for the man she loved in a very non-sibling way. But Jon’s identity was not widely known and he had no desire for that to change – for now. And neither did Sansa.

“I agree with Lord Seaworth. This needs to go before King Stannis,” Lord Royce said, ignoring the whispers at his use of king for Stannis Baratheon. “Along with the army of the Vale.”

Sansa sat back down as the noise level increased once more at Bronze Yohn’s words. He was pushing the other lords hard and fast but it made sense to take advantage of their surprise. Giving Petyr Baelish time to regroup would only be a mistake, one that would afford him an opportunity to sway the Vale houses to his side through coercion, bribery and blackmail.

“The decision to send an army to aide Stannis Baratheon is not for Lord Royce to decide,” Littlefinger said. “That can only be decided by Harry Hardyng when he becomes Lord Arryn of the Vale and Warden of the East.”

“And when will that be, Lord Baelish?” Lord Royce asked. “After you have put more pressure on Lady Waynwood to do your biding and have spent yet more coin in bringing other lords to your side? We cannot wait forever. The Others certainly won’t.”

“The Others,” Littlefinger scoffed. “They are nothing but stories and fairy-tales.”

“They are on their way. They have already pushed us out of the North,” Jon said forcefully. “You may dismiss my words all you wish, but they exist and they are coming.”

“A story to cover to your backing of Stannis Baratheon and nothing more,” Littlefinger said scornfully.

Jon ignored him and addressed those around him instead. “The Others may be the stuff of nightmares and legend but they are real all the same. They destroyed the Wall and whilst we debate their very existence they march across the North leaving nothing but death in their wake. The Mountains of the Moon and its wild clans will not save the Vale from being taken. Only if humanity stands together will we stand a chance to defeat them. Stannis Baratheon offers us that chance.”

“Stannis Baratheon also thinks he’s straight out of a myth. What is it that Red Lady of his calls him – Azor Ahai?” Lyn Corbray said, sniggering into his hand.

Sansa watched amazed as Jon stood tall, his shoulders back and his legs a little apart. His pulled Longclaw from its sheath and she sat agape as the flaming sword was revealed – the heat given off from the flames causing her to withdraw back.

“I am Azor Ahai reborn,” Jon said with a confidence that stunned the room into silence.

This man with the burning flame was a far cry from the sombre and soft spoken Jon who had held her in his arms just the night past and promised that he would not leave the Gates of the Moon without her. This was a man with a purpose – a mission – and Sansa was not the only one to see it.

“I say we ally with King Stannis,” Gilwood Hunter said, as he got to his feet. “If the Long Night has returned then we need to mass our army and meet the threat.”

“Aye,” Benedar Belmore said as he rose from his seat. “I agree.”

Soon most of the lords of the Vale had followed Lords Hunter and Belmore in declaring their support to Lord Royce’s plan. Sansa watched as Petyr’s dreams for the Vale fell into ashes around him and she could not help the little smile that played on her lips as his eyes darted around the room, seeking some sort of leverage. But none was to be had. Lord Royce had played the hand given to him far too well and his was a name that carried a weight far more than any Baelish could – even one with pockets as deep as Petyr’s.

As the last lord rose and voiced his support for King Stannis, Sansa herself stood. “As the Lady of the Winterfell, I pledge House Stark’s support to Lord Commander Snow and King Stannis. Winter has come.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://rumaan.tumblr.com/) where I am usually wallowing in copious amounts of Stark feels amongst other things. Feel free to join me!


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